Drabbles II
by Richan MMI
Summary: Slash drabbles written over the years, with most being of Harry and Sirius. Included: Fluidity, starring a thoughtful Bill. If you don't like slash, do NOT read these stories.
1. Gravitation, SBHP

After much deliberation with my sister, she persuaded me to put up this little collection of drabbles I've written for the Canis Major group on Yahoo! This first one has no spoilers for the fifth book, but the next one - a three parter - was written in response to the book. You are forewarned. - Richan 

Gravitation

by Richan

Warnings: fluff/humor

Summary: Sirius muses on Harry's birthday

AN: I was up, couldn't sleep, and was drawn (pun intended, no matter how bad it is) to this word. What sleep deprivation can do to a person... No spoilers for OotP in this one.

Dictionary Drabble response for the word: grav·i·ta·tion

Pronunciation: "gra-v&-'tA-sh&n

Function: noun

Date: circa 1645

1: a natural force of attraction that tends to draw bodies together:

GRAVITY 3a(2)

2: the action or process of gravitating

* * *

Sirius looked at Harry, whose face was flush and sweat ran in rivulets down his smooth cheeks. It never ceased to amaze him just how hot his lover was. Both sexually and physically. He would have to be a summer baby.

Still, even across the room he was tempted to bury his hands in the wild hair, the hair that looked liked they had just gotten out of bed. Even freshly out of the shower it was never flat, no matter how much gel Sirius used to get it so. Then they would go back in the shower and use the rest of the hot water, using the gel for something completely different.

"You're drooling, Sirius."

He looked at Remus, whose face was one giant smirk.

"I wouldn't be if someone hadn't arrived an hour early than he said to help with decorations, so I didn't get any this morning," he muttered under his breath.

An unrepentent grin was his answer. Instead, Remus jerked his head in Harry's direction. "How is it that, whenever you and Harry are in the same room, you end up together no matter what goes on?"

"It comes naturally," Sirius said in a distracted voice. He was more interested in watching Harry eat an eclair, taking the time to lick his fingers of the rich cream filling.

"Drool, Sirius. Drool."

He ignored the amused tone and made his way to the dessert table Harry was perusing.

"Would you like something sweet for dessert, Mr. Potter?" he asked in a sultry voice. "I may be persuaded to fulfill that whipped cream fantasy I know is floating around your head."

Green eyes laughed. "Aren't you forgetting about our guests?"

Sirius eyed the milling people for a moment. "I'm not. I'm just hoping that I could get you to forget." He waggled an eyebrow in a lewd manner.

He was interrupted by Remus, who had gotten everybody's attention with a loud chime. "A toast to the birthday boy!" The crowd cheered their wishes for a happy birthday to Harry. "Now that that's done, Sirius... I give you permission to give the birthday boy his birthday shag!"

Sirius decided this was as good a point as any to drag Harry out of the room. Cheeks flaming, two two wound their way back to the bedroom, warded it, and proceeded to follow Remus' advice, even if they wouldn't be able to look anybody in the face for quite a while.

Fin.


	2. Understanding I, SBHP

Understanding (1 of 3) 

By Richan

Dictionary Drabble: Bereave

Rated: R, because of Harry's naughty words

Notes: first two parts are pre-slash. The second part also has het, but not between Harry and Sirius. Third is slash. Definitely over 500 words. For each part, as well.

This is meant to be rambling.

Spoilers: OotP

* * *

They said, "give him time to bereave his loss."

They don't understand it's more than just some fucking "loss."

They don't know that he was more than just some father figure I had only seen those few times in my life.

I sit in this horrible house all day, trying to move past what everyone wants me to get through.

I don't want to if it means that I can't have him.

They don't know what I feel. Hell, I don't know what I feel sometimes. Other times, I can't get a hold of the maelstrom that resides within me, trying to grab hold of something that will anchor me to reality.

I feel despair that the only person that will have ever loved me is missing from my life.

He is not dead.

They didn't hear the voices behind that veil like I did. I asked Lupin if he heard something, and now he thinks that I am hearing things because I'm missing him. I asked Tonks if she heard anything while in that room, and she doesn't remember anything of that night very well.

I asked Neville what he remembered about that night, and he said that Sirius' body just disappeared as it fell through the blank archway. I asked him if he didn't see the veil, like he saw the Thestrals, but he hasn't written anything back about that since then.

I don't think that I am going crazy, but they will never understand that.

They never got to sit with him at Christmas, wrapped in a secure set of arms, reminiscing about all the trouble he got into with his friends. They will never understand that he wasn't as old as everyone thought him, and that I may have always been older than him in some instances.

I want to rage at everybody that tells me he is gone.

He's not fucking gone! I know that he isn't!

That veil hides a horrible existance. I know that, because the Idiot-Who-Wants-To-Rule-The-World tells me that in my dreams. Of course, I can't defend myself about that, because "Snivellus" never took the time to see beyond my appearance that is so much like my father's.

The veil is the crossing point between the land of the living and the realm of the dead. How Tom found that out without being caught in it, I will never know. I do know this, however, I will be going through it as soon as I kill the bastard.

I know that if I stay in the wizarding world after I do so, some idiot, if Fudge is not the Minister by then, will want to put me on trial. To prove my point - Umbridge and her attempt to get me expelled with the Dementor attack on Privet Drive last summer.

The chance to go through the veil is what will propel me through time to when I can get rid of the bastard who took my parents, who made his life a living hell in both Azkaban and Grimmauld Place and that cave just outside of Hogsmeade. Then I will get the chance to be with him again, and I'll get the chance to tell him that I love him more than I love my own life. That I gave up everything in the world for him.

I just hope he can forgive me for that transgression once I am with him.

You exist beyond the veil until something or someone sets you free.

I will free him from that place, where time has no meaning, yet it stretches forever.

Damn. Petunia is calling me, well, yelling at me to come take of "my damned owl." Hedwig has taken much joy in being able to enter the house from any window - since Vernon is scared shitless because of Moody - and has taken great delight in dive-bombing the Dursleys every chance she gets.

At least something good came out of this.


	3. Understanding II, SBHP

Understanding 

Part 2

* * *

"What is this?" the brown-haired woman asked as she searched through the mess that lay at the bottom of the trunk. She had been looking through the attic for a book to give to her daughter now that she was entering Hogwarts the next month.

She rifled through it, startled at the sight of Harry's sloppy writing. It had been more than a decade since she had seen this book - the book that he was always writing in, the book that he refused to let anyone look in, saying that he needed it to keep sane during the war. She and Ron had always respected that, and had figured that he had filled it when they no longer saw him writing in it.

She could still see that day, when he and Voldemort (she was still rather proud of herself for being able to say that name, even after seeing just how terrible his presence and power was) were fighting the the Chamber of Death. The two were locked in battle, the Order and Death Eaters unable to approach them because of the power radiating off of them.

Harry had sent the most powerful burst of magic Hermione had ever felt towards Voldemort, obliterating his existance. She had always figured that it was a combination of all three Unforgivable Curses, no matter that he had never liked using them. He had stood there, panting, on the dias in front of the archway, his head tilted as if he were listening to someone no one else could hear.

He had said just three words - "I'm coming, Sirius" - when he was hit from the side by Draco Malfoy in his last attempt to revenge his father and thrown into the veil just as Sirius had been two years ago. To Hermione, it had seemed like it had taken Harry a year to fall through the empty archway, through which Luna had always insisted held a large veil, even after all these years. The red light of that spell had illuminated Harry's face for the briefest of moments. She was still sure that happiness and joy had been radiating from her friend's face as he fell backwards into nothingness.

She had forgotten about having Harry's trunk - it had been years since she had been up in the attic, since she couldn't stand the ghoul drool. When she had moved into The Burrow, Hermione had stuffed Harry's trunk up here, unable to withstand the emotions that came from looking at it.

And now she held some of his deepest thoughts when he had been sixteen and seventeen.

Hermione refused the feel guilty as she opened the book.

* * *

She felt guilty - Very Guilty - as she closed the back cover.

How was it that she had never seen the things that had been between Sirius and Harry all those years ago when they celebrated Christmas.

She had been too preoccupied by Harry's admission of his kiss with Cho to think that he could have been kissing someone else as well. And his own godfather, who had never gotten the chance to be a godfather. Each of them had been alone for so many years, it was understandable that each of them had gravitated towards each other. And Harry had never tried to be with anyone else after Sirius' death.

It had brought tears to her eyes when she read about Harry's confusion about that kiss he had shared with Sirius at Christmas. They had been talking about his first kiss, Harry had written, that he had asked if all kisses were like that.

Then Sirius went through the veil, and Harry retreated.

But what if what Harry wrote was true? That Sirius had been stuck behind that veil that actually does exist? That he had been there two years, neither living nor dead, and that Harry had been right that he could have been rescued when he'd suggested it at the end of their sixth year? When Lupin had fallen through it and Tonks lay dying in front of the archway?

"Hermione?"

She turned to find her husband standing in the doorway, the only light illuminating the attic, other than that from her "lumos" spell, through the red-haired man in shadow.

"What did you find?"

Hermione looked up. "Just some memories, Fred. Some memories that should have been much happier than they turned out to be."


	4. Understanding III, SBHP

Understanding 

Part 3

* * *

He was finally happy right where he was.

There was no war here. There was no fighting here, except when someone wanted to take their space at the foot of the tree that bordered the small stream.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked in a silky voice, breaking the silence, but not the mood.

Bright green eyes looked up into those of palest blue.

"I was thinking that this is where we both belong," the man explained. "Everything that we've gone through, this is like the ultimate prize to receive."

The other man nodded and wrapped his arms a little tighter around him. He put his chin in the messy, black hair. He took a deep breath, relishing in the scent of autumn and apples.

He couldn't agree more with the sentiment. Both of them had suffered through things that no one should ever have to go through. Their friends and family torn from them, although he was quite happy with that situation.

"Sirius?"

He looked down. Harry's green eyes were bright again, the dullness (caused by their enforced separation) having dropped from them a long time ago.

"Yes?"

"Could we go to the house later?"

Sirius sighed. That was one of things he didn't like about this place. He still couldn't see his friends. Instead, all they had was a few of their things that had somehow found their way here, imbued with some of their spirit. They had put them in a house a short walk down the road where they stayed, and Harry, more often than not, wanted to go there every couple of weeks - or at least it seemed like a couple of weeks. Time was often more confusing than trying to figure out the latest Muggle electronic device that ended up here. Not that either of them were consistent.

Still, he would indulge his lover. Sometimes it was refreshing to hear James talk once more, or to see Lily in a fine temper. But there were still times when he couldn't handle it, seeing or hearing them bringing the guilt that was inside him to a boiling point.

Nothing like when they discovered that Sirius and Harry were together.

In both ways.

It had come as a surprise when Sirius had looked up from the few things he had managed to obtain in that strange place he had been thrown into, to find Harry walking towards him. A mighty hell had been raised, and while Harry had confessed that he had often thought of just jumping in himself, he had been tossed in here by Malfoy the junior.

Neither of them had noticed while they were talking the scenery whirled around faster than the speed of light. In fact, it wasn't until they both heard a voice interrupting their argument that they acknowledge the fact they were no longer in that strange plane of existence.

And it had to be Avalon, a place that even the wizarding world had thought a myth. Moony had teased them when he had greeted them, that he had arrived because he knew we would be here eventually, but the two of them had to wait for the other. Even if this wasn't anything like the place they both thought they would end up, if they had thought about it at all.

But the scenery of this place had held a romantic air whenever the two of them were near each other. It had reminded Sirius of that single kiss he had given Harry, when he had asked if all kisses were like his first. He had been intensely jealous that he had missed it, later. After Harry had returned to Hogwarts after the holiday, Sirius had found himself wishing that he had been the one to give his godson his first kiss, and not some upstart Ravenclaw of a girl.

Harry wiggled slightly in his arms, bringing Sirius' attention back to his lover. It had been hard, seeing his lover stuck in his almost-eighteen year old body year in and year out. And that he was stuck in his thirty-seven year old body. At least, it had been until that night when they had been tossed into a locked room and told not to come out until they "finally shagged each other."

Moony had always had a weird sense of humor. Even if his now-separated wolf form did like to poke his nose in whenever Sirius had the notion to "shag" Harry in their spot. Pervert.

Sirius buried his nose in Harry's hair, content to smell that scent of autumn and apples, content to sit under their tree, even if Moony II had a terrible sense of timing, content in a way that he had never understood before, content to feel the warmth of Harry's body and heart, even in a place like this.

Fin.


	5. Fluidity, BWHP

Title: Fluidity  
Author: Richan  
Warnings: none  
Spoilers: through OotP  
Pairing: Bill/Harry  
Summary: Bill ponders on how Harry moves  
Words: 570

* * *

It starts with the roll of a foot. Bill had always been amazed by how _fluid_ Harry walked, as if he was walking on air rather than the packed earth of the back garden of the Burrow, that first time he'd seen him. 

From there, it is a smooth transition and play of muscle as toes flex and a knee bends. Hips that glide rather than swagger, almost as if taught an elocution that's no longer made available to humble wizards like Bill himself.

It was the walk that caught his eye, all those years ago, when he'd been introduced to the skinny, black-haired boy who stuck out so wildly in the midst of red that was his family. It was the same walk that caught his eye after the war had ended, still smooth despite everything that had been done to the one doing the walking. Bones had been mended, sinews sewn seamlessly together to make it all flow like water over a gentle drop, resulting in a splash so small it is unseen by the naked eye.

Harry had come back over the hill, where he and his opponent had been hidden from the view of every single person fighting in front of the towering castle. Light and Dark had been spellbound by how he walked: confident, broken, and everything in between by what had just transpired to make Harry the victor and consigned Voldemort to the deepest regions of hell. That time the walk had been more of a sloping gait, with the barest hint of a limp, as if he were trying his hardest to not let _anyone_ see his hurt.

Bill knew, though. He'd seen the scars and bruises and _memories_ that had almost brought the fluidity to an end. He'd been the one to coax it back to life, been the one to coax Harry to life. He'd been the first graced with a stride made by the angels, by the gods, by all things glorious.

Now it was that fluid grace that was bringing Harry over to where Bill stood, bringing him to Bill's arms, where he fits so well. It is as if Harry is a cat, all lean muscle over a flexible frame that enabled a feline to land on its feet. Much like Harry always manages to do.

He nuzzles like a cat and purrs like one in the bedroom, but that is behind closed doors and they are most certainly not behind them now.

Bill and Harry are in the middle of friends and family, young and old, who savor the warmth of a summer sun, on one of those perfect days in August when a breeze has blown the heat away to leave the scent of honeysuckle behind and the lazy droning of a bumblebee as it moves from petal to petal.

It is days like this when Bill looks forward to watching that walk, the beauty and fluid movements that are so much a part of Harry that it is impossible to separate. Not that he would. To separate them would be to cut Harry out of his life completely, and Bill would not do that for anything.

Bill also waits for the day when he can fondly remember the gliding motions as Harry moves, the day when they are old and it is time to move on from this plane to the next, when everything will be fluid once again.

Fin.


End file.
